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by epiproctan



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2523311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiproctan/pseuds/epiproctan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, Ren misses when he used to be able to spend every moment with Aoba. Luckily, he gets the chance to do just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





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To Ren, to strengthening, growing, adapting Ren, everything about living in a human body was brilliant and stunning. There was a never-ending plethora of things to enjoy about his new miraculous form, so organic and full of nerve endings and with a real heart that pumped real blood. The more the days passed, the more he experienced, the more he spent long hours thinking on it, he realized that he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t completely superior to his old Allmate form in nearly every single aspect. Although it had taken much time for it to recover physically, and for him to adjust to its use and motions, now that he was settling down into it as though he’d been born here, he continued to marvel and its practicality, its abilities, on an hourly basis. There was so much to appreciate about it. He liked his new eyes, which gave him the capacity to look down on things he used to look up at, to examine things as they appeared to those who used to be just ankles and calves and voices from above to him. He liked his new mouth, with which he could taste Tae’s cooking, almost overwhelming in its flavor and pleasantness against his tongue. He liked his new arms, arms that gained strength and built muscle as he used them to help out around the house in ways he never could before, and he liked his new hands, which were useful for all the things you couldn’t do with just small pattering feet and a tiny jaw. All the colors in his world shone brighter, every sound now carried a tune, the way air ghosted over his skin made him want to sigh in relief. Everything about it was perfect, and he was infinitely grateful to have it.

Most of the time.

There were occasions when Ren found himself wishing. Just for an accidental second, just for an careless fraction of a moment. The thought would slip by. The unthinking wish that he still inhabited his old Allmate form.

Even when Aoba said, “I’m just going to run to the store for a second. I’ll be right back,” it wasn’t until Aoba was already out the door that he realized the smarting feeling in his chest, the dully roaring ache in his stomach, was the result of having been left behind. He forgot it often, in the long days he spent helping Tae hang the laundry and following Aoba’s directions to walk up the stairs, then down, and then up again, but when he reflected upon it, it occurred to him that he had his own volition now. He could have gone with Aoba to the store if he had wanted to. But instead he’d stood there far too long waiting next to the genkan for Aoba to pick him up and put him in his bag.

He was accustomed to Aoba, to everything with Aoba, to Aoba’s schedule keeping the tempo of his life and Aoba’s stride setting the pace of his walk. He could remember nothing _but_ Aoba for as far back as his memory functioned, and this was absolute. Aoba was a constant like gravity or the sun and the moon in the sky. All his life until that moment in Platinum Jail they’d never been separated, and that experience had gone and unbalanced all the equations of his life. Though the outcome had been far more desirable than any other he could’ve ever imagined, being without Aoba for any time at all felt like his lungs were missing, like he was seeing through a fog, like he was still half asleep. He was a part of Aoba, he belonged intrinsically to Aoba. Having to get used to not always being with him, not always being connected with him, was harder in so many ways than getting used to his new physical body.

The days that Aoba spent at work were long and lonely. Although Ren had plenty to do, like chores and whatever physical therapy remained, the emptiness was unsettling and his existence felt amputated from some greater body and all the world was askew on its axis until Aoba was home. He supposed he’d get used to it eventually, but for now it wasn’t something he was enjoying at all.

He wanted to always be together with Aoba, after all.

One morning after Ren gently shook Aoba awake, twenty minutes later than planned due to Aoba’s incredibly persuasive half-asleep mumbling, which Ren seemed more vulnerable to by the day, Aoba rolled over, leaning onto his chest, and gave him a deeper, slower good morning kiss than usual. He sighed into it, one of his hands finding its way into Ren’s hair and the other resting butterfly-light on his shoulder. Ren reciprocated, pushing inward, his hands instinctively flying to Aoba’s waist, until Aoba abruptly pulled away and, not even glancing back at Ren, shifted out of bed. Ren couldn’t pretend that the shallow ache in his chest didn’t exist. He wanted to kiss Aoba more. No, even more than that, he just wanted to _be_ with Aoba more. He wanted to be able to always watch over him and help him with his daily little struggles and protect him thoroughly with every part of his body and mind. But now Aoba was pulling on his jeans, getting ready for work, and Ren was only changing into his day clothes so he didn’t walk downstairs in nothing but his boxers.

“Aoba,” he finally said, hesitant and slow, as the man in question gathered his hair back into its usual ponytail.

Aoba gave him a glance and the elastic a tug. “What’s up?”

“Could I….” He trailed off, unsure of how selfish his request was. There were worse things he could be asking for right now, and it wasn’t as though this was unreasonable. In fact, this was something that used to be taken for granted. “Could I possibly go to Heibon with you?”

For a second Ren feared that maybe Aoba would say no, from the way he cocked his head curiously at him, but then he gave a laugh. “You’re that sick of helping Granny with the laundry, huh?” was his response. “Sure, we’ll find you something to do there.”

A strange anxiety bubbled up in Ren’s stomach, and he wasn’t sure if Aoba had entirely understood his question and the reasoning behind it. But for today, at least, he could enjoy some time together with Aoba.

 

Aoba explained the situation to ever-understanding Haga-san when they arrived at Heibon, and as Aoba sat at his desk to begin his duties, Ren silently and obediently plopped down onto his usual stool. Or what used to be his usual stool, when he’d had a usual stool, during the time when coming to work with Aoba was a daily, usual occurrence. Now that it was an _un_ usual thing, everything was a little bit different. The stool itself seemed a great deal smaller, to say the least, and rocked on uneven legs under his weight. He sometimes used to slip into sleep mode here where nothing else was going on, but he couldn’t do that now. Taking a nap in the middle of the store would be inconvenient, not to mention against social norms. He tried to content himself with watching Aoba, which was another favorite previous pastime of his, and this was entertaining enough until Aoba caught him at it.

“You’re staring,” Aoba grumbled in his direction, shifting in his seat. Maybe it was the lighting but his cheeks looked a little pink. “It’s distracting.”

“I’m sorry,” Ren said quickly.

Well, he could just do nothing, he supposed, as he tried to remember the way he used to pass his days. It was different now that he wasn’t connected to the internet and could answer Aoba’s questions without hesitance, that he wasn’t a machine that could just power down when unused. He felt almost helpless, wanting to be of some assistance but finding no capacity in which he would be useful, looking everywhere but at Aoba as to let him focus, drumming his fingers quietly on the side of the stool.

It was better though. Just being in Aoba’s presence made him warm. Listening to the sounds he made as he shifted in his chair, the gentle babble of his voice when he was on the phone, knowing that he was in the same room as Ren and nothing could hurt him so long as he was around. It relaxed him, it contented him.

When Bonjin-kun came in and did his usual bustling, Ren jumped up to help out with that. And then afterwards, just as he was about to return to his seat, Aoba noticed his inactivity and set him to organize some files. That carried him to lunchtime, after which things got slightly more exciting. Haga-san came into the room just as they were finishing up their food with a box in his hands for delivery.

“Can Ren do it?” Aoba asked. “I’m in the middle of something.”

_No,_ thought Ren despite his idleness. That ruined the entire point of coming to work with Aoba. He would much rather sit on a chair and do nothing but be by Aoba’s side than be busy elsewhere and be away from him. He considered telling Aoba this, but of course he couldn’t. Not something that selfish, that inconsiderate. Instead he dutifully took the box and left the shop.

By the time he returned, it was already creeping towards closing time, and he came inside to find Aoba rifling through boxes on the floor in the corner of the room.

“Aoba,” he said as a greeting. “Can I assist you somehow?”

Aoba glanced at him over his shoulder. “No, I’m almost done.” He was bent at the waist, and Ren blushingly found himself admiring his body. “Haga-san went home already. He said as soon as I finish up what I have to do today, we can leave.”

Ren didn’t answer and instead went to sit in Aoba’s vacated desk chair. He must’ve just gotten up, because a bit of his body warmth still clung to it, and Ren could feel the imprint in the chair from where he sat day after day. This chair knew Aoba’s daily life very well.

He picked up the mug sitting on the desk and took a sip. The rim tasted like Aoba, but the coffee inside was cold. When he put it back down he picked up the pen next to the computer keyboard. This object fit into Aoba’s fingers every day, existed only in a capacity to serve Aoba. Just as Ren once had. Ren had surpassed that purpose, but was that necessarily a good thing? He couldn’t serve Aoba as he once had, as this pen could, in a fashion that was always helpful and productive.

A shadow crossed over him, and he realized that Aoba was standing in front of him. Almost thoughtlessly, the smaller man dropped himself into Ren’s lap, perching on his thighs, and turned towards the computer as if Ren himself was the chair.

“I’m just going to finish these emails,” Aoba explained. “Then we can go home.”

Ren could definitely handle that. Right now he was with Aoba, in physical contact with Aoba, and that made everything okay. He shifted so that Aoba was settled more comfortably on him, and draped his arms carefully around his waist. Aoba began clacking at the keyboard as if Ren wasn’t even there.

Well, Aoba might be able to ignore Ren, but in this proximity, Ren definitely wasn’t able to ignore Aoba. The truth was that so many parts of Aoba sang seductively to him: the warm thighs pressed against his own, the bend in his shoulders and neck as he leaned forward to type, the vague scent of his shampoo that rose from his hair where it hung down his back in front of Ren’s nose. As much as Ren tried to sit still and let him do his work, the fact of the matter was that Aoba was very present and very on him at the moment, and he couldn’t help but want to lean into him more, be _together_ with him more. He wasn’t actively trying to distract Aoba, or do anything else to spoil the moment, but it was so easy to reach forward and trace his fingers along the seam of Aoba’s pant leg. The fabric was rough but Ren knew that underneath laid Aoba’s smooth flesh, his soft warm skin that curved gently over his thighs, thighs that fit warm and soft in his palm.

Ren loved Aoba’s thighs. Ren loved Aoba’s thighs and calves and feet, his stomach and his chest, his arms, his hands, his shoulders and his neck and his throat, his face and his hair, the way he murmured his name in his sleep and the way he smiled at him when he got home from work. He was so grateful that all this belonged to him, that he and Aoba were just two halves of the same whole, that except for that long lonely year they had spent their entire existence together and would continue to do so for the rest of their lives. He couldn’t have been more excited to be together with him, to get to love him and to put his arms around him. His presence was the last thing Ren was aware of as he drifted to sleep every night, and the first thing to enter his mind when he woke in the morning. Aoba was everything and more.

Aoba.

The man in Ren’s lap had no idea what was going on in his lover’s head at that moment, and only that his large hands were rubbing warm slow circles on his thighs. This was about as conducive to focusing as a band parading through the room. Ren’s fingers crawled along the fabric on the sides of Aoba’s legs, tempting and beckoning. There wasn’t anything innately sexual about the movements, the light pressure of his fingertips, the gradual shift of his touch towards Aoba’s hips, but it was slow and warm and wanting.

Ren was just touching, but he knew where Aoba enjoyed being touched. His intent wasn’t to interrupt his work, just to sate himself with the amount of Aoba he needed, but Aoba shifted in his lap, almost as though trying to evade the touch. He reached the bone of Aoba’s hip with his left hand and perched it there, while his right came to rest on the middle of his thigh. Just under the fabric was the soft warm flesh, and Ren sunk his fingertips in a little to feel it more fully.

Aoba reached down and gently swatted his hand away. When Ren glanced up to apologize, Aoba wasn’t even looking at him, his eyes still trained on the screen and his fingers on the keyboard. But if Ren leaned a little to the right, he could make out part of Aoba’s cheek, and he noticed a slight blush had crept up onto it.

He wanted that. He wanted to flush cheeks, to touch them, to see them. Ren leaned forward more to get a better look, sliding his palms along his thighs again, and found that from here it was only a matter of tilting his head to stick his nose into Aoba’s hair and inhale deeply. So he did.

“Ren!” Aoba scolded. “Stop that. I have to finish this email.”

“I’m sorry,” Ren replied, but he didn’t take his hands off. He’d waited his whole life to touch Aoba, to feel him this way, and he wasn’t going to stop now, not while he had this chance. Every moment he could touch Aoba was precious. It wasn’t often that he got to spend this much time with Aoba anymore as well, at least not when Aoba had work. He wanted to feel him for as long as he could.

And though Aoba was working, though Aoba was doing his job, that patch of skin on Aoba’s neck that his hair has slipped away from seemed to mercilessly tease Ren. It was the most beautiful color, and smooth, and the only thing he could think in that moment was how good it must taste. No gourmet food in the entire world could compare to what it was like to sample Aoba’s skin.

His teeth were already on it, nibbling, sucking, licking, nipping, before he realized what he was doing, but even after he did he didn’t stop. Just as he’d thought, it turned out that Aoba was delicious.

“Hey, don’t do that!” Aoba protested. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

The sounds of Aoba’s keystrokes had slowed to a halting stutter, his fingers unsure of where to go and what to do, like they had forgotten what they were doing there on the letters. Quite the opposite was happening with Ren’s tongue as it traced needily over Aoba’s neck, wanting to cover every inch in himself, afraid he might miss something.

Aoba squirmed under his touch, fidgeted a little. His bones were digging into Ren’s legs a little, but the slight pain was completely worth being able to push his nose up behind Aoba’s ear and nibble the edge of his earlobe. With an unconscious movement, Aoba leaned into the touch, and Ren thought he felt a shiver under his fingertips.

But it was his sigh that did it.

Ren grabbed Aoba’s hips and tugged him back firmly into him, so that Aoba was tucked into the curve of his body, his back against his chest. He was warm, and he was _his_ , and Ren could feel himself stiffening into the softness that was Aoba.

Like the oxygen he needed to live, Ren breathed his name.

Aoba froze. Then he slowly removed his fingers from the keyboard, and for a second Ren expected to be pushed away again. But instead, Aoba twisted around and pressed his lips to Ren’s, light but lively. Ren pushed back, suddenly starving and desperate, and shoved his tongue forward in between lips to drown Aoba’s oncoming protests before they could leave his mouth.

Every time he kissed Aoba it was better than the last. This one felt like being drenched in cool water after standing in the hot sun all day, and the relief was so overpowering that he trembled a little. He slid his hands along until he reached the front of Aoba’s pants, and with some happiness found that he wasn’t the only one whose body was craving this proximity. He began working at the belt buckle, sighing around their kiss.

Aoba pulled away with a gasp for breath. “Ren, hold on, we’re at work….”

Ren’s answer was to pull the belt open and unbutton Aoba’s jeans. It was hot inside, and as Ren reached in to draw out Aoba’s cock, his returned his attention to his mouth. Aoba may have been complaining but he was certainly returning the kiss, deep and sweet, and one of his hands rested on Ren’s, not to pull him away but to feel him as he moved forward. Ren was fully hard now, constricted by his pants, and he reflexively pushed his hips up against Aoba, who reciprocated by rubbing down on Ren. He groaned into the kiss and then broke away.

When Aoba stood, Ren anticipated a reprimand, but instead now Aoba was turning around. He reseated himself in Ren’s lap, this time straddling him, and pressed their chests together, rekindling their kiss. It was a weird fit in the chair, slightly precarious and not completely comfortable, but they pressed together, wanting and uncaring. Reaching down between them, Aoba unsteadily worked at the front of Ren’s pants until his boxers and jeans were pulled away from his cock, and wrapped his hand around it. Ren pulled him forward until their erections pressed together, and then, fingers encircling both, began to pump.

“Hng, Ren…,” Aoba sighed, and grinded down, seeking something even closer. “What if…a customer comes in…?”

Ren didn’t really have a full answer for him other than that he didn't really care just then, he only wanted to have him as soon as possible, because every muscle and every nerve and every cell of his entire body ached for him constantly, and sometimes the only way to relieve the pain was to move with him and feel him inside of him and love him and love him and love him. Not all of Ren’s problems could be solved by having sex with Aoba, but that seemed like a good immediate release from the need and the self-doubt and the longing he was feeling.

But Aoba was the most important. Aoba was always the most important. And he didn’t ever want Aoba to feel uncomfortable. So he scooped his arms under Aoba’s thighs and stood, picking up the smaller man with him.

Aoba’s arms flew around his neck, accompanied by a, “H-hey! What are you doing?!”

“We’re going somewhere else,” Ren replied.

“What? Where?” Aoba cried, and within a minute he was being lowered gently onto the couch in the back room, and Ren was centering himself over him.

“Customers won’t enter this room,” Ren said.

“But still,” Aoba protested, though contrary to his words he put his arms around Ren and pulled him closer, “this is work.”

Ren kissed him to keep his complaints silenced and moved his hand downward again, where it returned to its position, wrapped around both of their cocks. He couldn’t hold back the movements of his hips now, the instinctive rhythm that pushed through him, fueled by raw urges. He grinded down on Aoba, their mouths together in an open sloppy kiss, his hand working hard, pausing to run over their heads and then back again, bringing with it the precum that had leaked out.

A few more strokes and he took his hand off, and it was immediately, desperately, replaced by Aoba’s, his grip looser and his rhythm as unsteady as the ragged breaths rising from his lungs. It didn’t matter to Ren though. It was Aoba’s hand, Aoba’s sweet, soft hand, with its perfect fingers and warm palm, that was wrapped around him, pumping him, caressing him, and it didn’t matter what he was doing because any contact with Aoba felt indescribably good. He was still driving down anyway, sliding their bodies together, finding all the necessary contact in all the right places with his hips. He swiped his tongue against Aoba’s lips as he used his hand to scoop under him. He couldn’t resist the compulsion to pause there, cup a cheek in his palm and press his hand into the soft skin. He gave it two squeezes and Aoba whimpered into Ren’s mouth.

 Aoba made an even louder whine when Ren shifted his hand further, circling the firm hole with two fingers. He gently pushed the tip of one inside, past the tight ring of muscle, and felt Aoba writhe beneath him. Pulling him closer, he trailed his tongue down his chin and onto his neck, and Aoba shakily slid his free hand up Ren’s back and fisted his hand in his shirt, holding tight.

Ren hungrily pushed forward, making small gentle circles with his finger until he was in past his first knuckle, and then his second. Here he leaned back a little to take in Aoba’s face. Already his bangs were sweat-drenched, his cheeks bright, his eyebrows low over shining, heated eyes. He was lovely, he was beautiful, and as Ren twisted his fingers further in he was dazed by his want, his _need_ , for Aoba. It was undeniable, explosive, bright and uncontrollable and fierce. It sparked through his chest and into his lower body like a beam of fiery sunlight.

“Aoba,” he muttered, tasting his favorite word. On his tongue it was only second to the flavor of Aoba’s lips and skin.

He suddenly withdrew, pulling away from Aoba’s body, leaving him gasping and reaching. Wasting no time, he tugged Aoba’s pants and boxers off of him, and then settled between Aoba’s legs, lifting his thighs. Reflexively, Aoba wrapped his legs around his torso, and then shifted his body forward, moaning past the back of his hand shoved in his mouth, like he was trying to fill himself with Ren on his own. A furious yearning swept through Ren, and with a painful physical and emotional need, he couldn’t bare not being a part of Aoba any longer. He wanted to return there to that place, to be one with him again, and he could achieve that, here and now. Holding himself steady, he let his tip rest wet and throbbing and needy at the hole, and then slowly began to push inside, force him wider, be accepted by him.

Aoba clenched his eyes shut, grit his teeth, and so Ren grabbed his cock, swiping his thumb over the slit and spreading the precum that had beaded there down over the head, trying to distract him from the pain. But his own body was nearly overcome by the sensation of Aoba closing in around him, impossibly and frantically hot. He slowly shifted in, taking his time to feel every millimeter of Aoba pressing on him, as far and deep and fully inside as he could reach, and then paused to give Aoba a moment to get acclimated.

He also took a moment for himself. He took it to soak in the view of Aoba, his hazel eyes wet with tears gathered at the corners, but staring back at Ren with an almost stunned affection and thirst. He felt himself nestled deep inside, filling all his empty space, connected within. He wanted to exist like this always, _with_ Aoba, taking up the same space and breathing the same air. He and Aoba were part of each other now as they always had been, and he had never been more grateful for this body so that he could share in moments like this. They were separate now, but they formed a more perfect whole than they ever had before.

Ren began to move.

Aoba gasped and threw his arms around Ren’s neck, pulling him down so that their chests were flush again. Ren leaned in, but instead of kissing Aoba he just hovered, his nose and Aoba’s so close they almost touched, their hot damp pants and moans mingling in the small space between them. Their eyes met and their gazes locked, and Ren had never seen anything so beautiful as those deep irises, as the bottom of his soul.

Shifting his hips a little, he began to ram harder, deeper, and Aoba’s eyes fluttered shut, an involuntary moan dripping from between his lips. _There_. Ren focused on honing in on that spot, on touching Aoba everywhere where he felt it the most, on making Aoba feel amazing. In all honesty, to Ren, his own pleasure was just a byproduct of Aoba’s and his desire to love him. But Ren certainly was feeling it too, the sharp amazing jolts that lanced up his spine, the building pressure in his lower body, the way all his muscles tensed and strained. He tightened his grip on Aoba’s cock and sped his pace a little.

“Aahh!” Aoba cried, his eyes flying open and his legs jerking once, twice. His knees weak, they dropped from around Ren’s body to the couch on either side of him. Ren was pushing him and pushing him further, closer and closer, and with every moment that past he could see him becoming more of a mess, his exclamations less stifled and his limbs less solid.

Ren could tell he was already losing it, losing himself, and that was bad. He’d only just started touching Aoba. He didn’t want it to be over yet. He wanted to keep feeling Aoba, keep being within Aoba, keep being connected with Aoba for as long as possible. Aoba was drowning, obvious from the way his hips shoved back and his voice splintered. In a matter of moments Aoba was going to convulse and cry out and spill himself between their bodies and it was going to happen soon, too soon. Ren didn’t want it to happen soon.

He took his hand away from Aoba’s cock, pulled himself almost completely out of him, and Aoba all but screamed.

“Ren?!” he sobbed, chest heaving, voice ragged. His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open. “W-what are you—?”

“I’m sorry.” Now still, just barely resting within Aoba, his own dick suddenly felt cold and lonely and throbbed painfully, desperately, and so he gave shallow, slow thrusts to relieve some of the sting. When Aoba raised his hand to touch himself, to give himself some kind of aid, looking wild and confused, Ren reached out and caught him by the wrist. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be finished yet.”

Aoba stared at him, incredulous, his entire body trembling. “Ren,” he begged, “put it back—”

“Not yet,” Ren replied, his motion slight and languid. He ached, he ached in every tensed muscle and agonized nerve ending, from the bones in his toes to every strand of hair plastered to his forehead, but it was worth it. He wanted Aoba longer and longer and more and more.

Aoba’s body jerked abruptly, bringing with it a sound that was half-sigh, half-moan. He was rolling his hips, thrusting upwards, trying to find some assistance in the empty air. “Ren,” he wept, long and drawn out, distressed and desperate and pained, but infinitely more breathtaking than anything else Ren had ever seen in his life. Aoba’s shirt was bunched up towards his neck, revealing an expanse of fair, concave skin glistening with sweat between the sharp rise of his hipbones, and his cock bounced hard and aimless beneath his navel as he ineffectively gave arrhythmic, unconscious shoves into the space above him. Dark, bruised lips fluttered with unvoiced words and heavy hard pants, and his pink cheeks absolutely _shone_. Enjoying the view, Ren ignored his stuttering heart and felt his welling urges diminish slightly. He counted to ten in his head, taking deep breaths between each agonizing number, the air calm and cool on its way in through his nose but steaming and heavy on its way out of his mouth.

“Ren, _please_.”

That was enough.

Ren couldn’t keep himself away anymore. He trailed his hand up the inside of Aoba’s thigh, causing him to flinch, before giving a few slow experimental thrusts to see how Aoba would take it. Aoba keened, bearing his hips down on his cock, but Ren pulled back once again, not wanting to continue too quickly.

Aoba was gasping and choking and Ren readied himself again, and as he sheathed himself completely inside instantaneous madness shot up his spine. Aoba’s face mirrored what he was feeling: relief at the return of the stimulation, strong desire for more, but slightly cooler than where they’d been previously.

This time, Ren started slower, despite the burning twinge that circuited in his lower body and prickled just under his skin. He wanted to hold on with Aoba, to hold on to Aoba, for as long as he could, for _longer_ than he could. But Aoba was so hot inside, and tightly squeezing in on him, and so beautiful as he wriggled and quaked and moaned under him.

Ren leaned down again to taste his lips, his hand back on Aoba’s cock, and Aoba groaned heavily and frantically into his mouth. Aoba’s trembling fingers were on him again, shaking, shifting through his hair, resting on the back of his neck, reaching past him to loop his arms around, locking him in close. The scent of Aoba was almost overpowering at this distance, and Ren craved it. He brought his teeth down on Aoba’s jawline, nibbling there, sucking, pulling a whimper from him.

“More,” Aoba breathed, high-pitched and broken into Ren’s ear. Ren refused, still pushing his hips at a slower speed, _painfully_ slower, but the way Aoba clung to him desperately was sating and cooling enough to bare it. With his thumb he pressed into Aoba’s tip, his head, the underside of his dick, all the places where he felt it best. He pushed his face under Aoba’s chin, and licked up the bottom, enjoying the salty warm taste of his sweat and the smooth skin that brushed against his lips.

The sounds of their bodies wet and filthy against each other was loud in the room, as well as the shifting of the couch beneath them, and it was all overlaid by Aoba’s begging moans. Ren couldn’t help but adore these sounds, thankful that no one else was in the building so that they could make such things between themselves. Those noises to Ren were something beautiful he and Aoba were creating together, composing a symphony just for themselves to enjoy. He thought of this as he left red spots with his teeth on Aoba’s collarbone, marking him as his and his alone.

His tempo increased rapidly, and Ren had to push his entire face into Aoba’s chest and breathe deep, slow inhales to keep himself from ramming in frenziedly. Despite Aoba’s constant pleas for him to push deeper, faster, he fought to keep an even pace, to rein himself in, to slow down. It wasn’t of any use, though, and the way that Aoba was clawing at his back, the manner with which Aoba’s head thrashed down into the couch cushions and his toes were curling on Ren’s calves meant that he was already getting close again. Ren wasn’t immune to it either: he could feel his body tense, his hip violently ache. Still too soon. He wanted Aoba more and more with each passing second, and he needed to be inside of him for that. He couldn’t go on like this.

Ren tugged himself back again, this time fully, and it was like being pulled outside naked during the dead of winter. Aoba _did_ scream this time, frustrated, desperate, out of control. He howled Ren’s name an uncountable amount of times, uncountable only because Ren’s head was too hazy to even register that it was his name being called at first. He couldn’t take his hands off of Aoba, their skin attached by an irresistible magnetism, so he paused to cup Aoba’s thigh again, feel its roundness, its weight, its give and its smoothness, and he rubbed in gentle circles, gripped harder with twitching fingers. When he ran his knuckles along the inside, Aoba broke before him, his voice bleeding from his mouth weak and raspy and ceaseless, stuttering, pleading.

He leaned in and kissed Aoba hard, so hard he could taste the blood under his lips, and mercifully the way Aoba shoved back at him, thrust his tongue forward, made him forget about the painful wanting thrum of his entire body if only for a second. It came flooding back when Aoba’s legs, which had been kicking for purchase on the cushions, found some and used the new leverage to push his lower body up against Ren’s. They crashed haphazardly into each other, blind with desire, and Ren instinctively ground down towards him until he remembered his purpose here. He ran a hand down Aoba’s chest to his navel and pushed downwards, trying to keep Aoba’s hips grounded and away from his own, and Aoba squirmed under his grip.

But _god_ he needed him, he needed Aoba so badly, and it felt like he’d been cut off from oxygen. The more the agonizing seconds passed the longer they seemed, and the more Ren was sure he was bleeding out from phantom wounds everywhere on his body. It was impossible to function without him, without Aoba, and he didn’t want to hold back much longer. It was enough.

Aoba rocked towards him as soon as he put his dick near his ass, and Ren was just as impatient as he was. With a wet satisfying noise, he pushed back inside, this time less concerned with holding onto deliberateness. Instead he dove in, almost rushed, and Aoba moaned loudly. He could only wait a moment for Aoba to get used to him again before every inch of his body was screaming for him to move. So he did.

Inside of Aoba. Before that day in Oval Tower when they’d first made love, Ren never could have imagined the sheer wonder that was being inside of Aoba. The way his walls were tight and slick and hot and perfectly molded to him, the way that he trembled when Ren found just the spot that made his legs spasm, how it felt to be so incredibly intimate with a person he loved, to literally exist inside of them and around them all at the same time. All this still continued to daze Ren, no matter how many nights they clung to each other on Aoba’s small bed, no matter how long it’d been since they admitted that they still loved each other, wanted to touch each other, despite the strange nature of Ren’s existence.

In awe and wonder Ren drove harder and harder until Aoba’s body was arched into him. He grabbed Aoba’s cock and circled his hand around it with just the amount of pressure that he knew Aoba needed, and the sounds that rose from Aoba’s lungs were sharp and bright. His very bones were vibrating with the intensity of their motions, and from the way Aoba’s head was thrown back, he could tell that he was feeling the same way.

Ren pressed his face into the skin where Aoba’s shoulder met his neck, slick with sweat but soft and smooth and smelling like the most comfortable scent Ren could ever imagine. His thrusts were growing less and less controllable as the unquenchable pressure in his lower body burned stronger. “Aoba,” he growled, low and intense, into his lover’s collarbone.

“Hng, R-ren!” was Aoba’s breathless reply.

“Aoba.” Ren’s voice was hoarse and torn and rough, wanting and taking, but tender. “Aoba. I always…want to be with you….”

Aoba gasped, starved for breath. “Re— _Ren_! Ah—I—!” His fists clenched spasmodically in Ren’s shirt. “Me—hah…too. I—uhhnn—I love you—aahh!”

And like that, pure and free, Ren’s mind was swept away. Reality faded from existence and for as far as Ren’s consciousness could stretch, for as long back as he could remember, there was only Aoba, Aoba, _Aoba_ , and a voice thick with pleasure, hazel eyes blurred by tears and affection, hands clinging to Ren with fierce want, and he was Ren’s, he was all Ren’s. All other sensation sublimated instantly from his body as he was wracked with a pleasure so violent and severe that he didn’t know light from dark. His mind fluttered aimlessly, sharp relief filling in all the empty spaces left after the contraction of his muscles, after his body’s release.

Aoba was crying into his ear, sobbing his name, and his entire frame shook as he fell, tumbling into the oblivion of Ren’s embrace. It felt like they were running together, paint in the rain, their colors becoming one solid blue. As he slowed to a halt, Ren’s vision flickered, but Aoba’s image was forever engraved into his mind. He breathed him in and cradled him close, and then settled carefully into a floating, airy calmness.

They laid like that, Ren unwilling to let go and Aoba’s arms still clenched strong around him, for several billion eons, until Aoba finally breathed into his ear, “Ren, let’s go home.”

Ren immediately scrambled back, pulled from his tranquil ecstasy by the sound of his name, and surveyed the mess they’d made. “Yes.”

After helping Aoba to trembling, unsteady feet, they cleaned themselves off, Aoba grumbling under his breath about they shouldn’t have been doing something like that _here_ of all places, and how Ren himself had spent enough time here to know better, and how they needed to get better at having sex at home and _only_ at home, and—

Aoba trailed off when he glanced up towards Ren, his pants back around his waist but still unbuttoned and unzipped. Ren hadn’t realized the intensity with which he’d been staring until Aoba’s eyebrows lowered in concern.

“Is something wrong?” Aoba asked, reaching up to cup Ren’s cheek.

“No,” Ren said. And it was true. He was still on a cloud of euphoria from his orgasm, and he was still with Aoba, and he could see Aoba and touch him.

His thoughts from earlier seemed almost silly in the aftermath of their intimacy. Of course he was still one with Aoba in many ways, in the way he touched him, connected with him, moved inside of him. The way they naturally broke out into smiles when their eyes met, and the way Aoba automatically fell into his arms when he wanted comfort. They shared a home, a bed, every meal. A history. A future. Their lives were a singular entity, just as they always had been, and they always would be. And without the small separation that they did have, Ren would never know what it was like, be so fulfilled, have this kind of connection with him. He was closer to Aoba now than he had ever been before, even when their bodies were one in the same.

They held hands as they headed back into the front, and Aoba gathered his things, email abandoned, in preparation to go home. Ren watched him from his stool just as he would have with his Allmate eyes as he shrugged on his jacket and picked his bag up from beside his desk. He also caught the sight of Aoba glancing over his shoulder at him and chuckling to himself.

Ren straightened up self-consciously. “What is it?”

“It’s been so long, but….” Aoba wandered up to him. “Sometimes I still look over here and expect to pick you up and put you in my bag, you know?”

Ren wasn’t quite sure how to react to that, but for some reason the statement gave him a small warm glow in the middle of his ribcage.

“It was nice having you here today,” Aoba went on, looking down. He grabbed one of Ren’s hands, almost unconsciously, and aimlessly traced the lines of his palm with his fingertips. “I kind of miss having you around all the time.”

Ren flipped his hand over and looped his fingers between Aoba’s, giving it a warm squeeze. “Aoba….”

His lover raised his eyes to meet his, a soft grin on his features. “You should come to work with me more often.”

Feeling the stretch of a smile on his own cheeks, Ren exhaled happily.

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me! epiproctan.tumblr.com


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